


Obsessions

by Dearest_Solitude



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Abuse, Alone Together, Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Drinking, F/M, Flirting, Implied Sexual Content, More Tags Inside, Obsessions, Rescue, age gap, the usual, you know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 14:49:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16767274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dearest_Solitude/pseuds/Dearest_Solitude
Summary: "You never told me what it was that made you strong, and what it was that made you weak."Two years after the death of her entire family, Violet Baudelaire meets a peculiar man in front of where her house once stood. In an ironic turn of events, he rescues her in more ways than one.





	1. Sad Ideas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet suffers a tragedy, and meets a peculiar man at a place that is not quite how she remembers.

It was not long after her fourteenth birthday that Violet Baudelaire’s parents suggested that she and her siblings head down to the beach. Violet remembered it clearly: They’d been sitting at the kitchen table together, and her father and mother had looked at each other, then out the window at the trees shifting in the breeze, then back at each other.

“You three should go out today. You’ve been home all week,” said Violet’s father, drumming his fingers on the table absentmindedly.

“How does the beach sound?” Asked her mother, smiling.

After putting forward the suggestion, they said they had some business, something that would be keeping them at home. They encouraged their children to take the trip, though, as the weather was perfect for beach going. It was cloudy and grey, but not too cold. They would surely have the beach to themselves.

Even though their parents wouldn’t be joining them, Violet had a stone-skipping invention she wanted to try out, and Klaus and Sunny were always happy to go on outings, so after packing up their things, they walked down to the rickety old trolley without complaint.

They were sitting on the bench, waiting for it to arrive, when Sunny announced that she wanted to go back and get some snacks for the ride.

“I’ll go with her,” Klaus offered. “I forgot to grab my good binoculars, anyways.”

Violet handed Sunny over, and then retrieved a small screwdriver from of her skirt pocket.

“I’ll make some final adjustments,” She told him, tying her hair back with the dark ribbon from around her wrist. “I think that some of the joints probably need to be tightened. I haven’t calculate for any type of weather, so I think it’s a necessary precaution.”

Klaus agreed and promised they’d be back in five minutes, before he and Sunny disappeared around the corner and out of sight. Violet continued to tinker with her invention, focused and content, patiently awaiting their return.

Five minutes passed, but there was no sign of them. She had long since tightened the joints and the whole project was now resting neatly in it’s basket on her lap. She was sitting up straight, fingers fidgeting idly as she watched a fire truck blare by. Moments later, another followed suit. She could smell smoke faintly, and her brows furrowed as she caught sight of it unspooling into the sky.

Five more minutes passed and when Klaus and Sunny still did not return, Violet decided it was time to go and find them.

Hefting her basket under one arm, she stood, trying to keep her worry at bay. Perhaps they had been held up by the fire men. Perhaps they were waiting for her to return home.

By the time she reached the end of the street, the grey sky had turned black and Violet could hear her heartbeat in her ears. Her hands were shaking, and the wind, which earlier had barely been more than a suggestion, was now whipping through the trees.

“Violet! Violet Baudelaire! There you are! Just the person I was looking for.”

Beside her, a pale blue car pulled up. It took her only a second to recognise Mr. Author Poe, her parents banker.

“Good morning, Mr. Poe,” She greeted politely.

“Good morning. Quite cloudy today, isn’t it?” he said, glancing at the sky.

“Yes.” Violet nodded, and smiled at him. “Perfect for going to the beach. I was just going to check to see if Klaus and Sunny ready.”

Mr. Poe looked over towards the pillar of smoke was climbing into the sky. Then he looked back at Violet, his smile strained. “I have some very bad news for you, Violet.” He paused. “Your family has perished in a terrible fire.”

Even years later, Violet Baudelaire could still remember the ringing in her ears as his words echoed through her empty mind. She could still remember the feeling of blood rushing from her head, and the world swirling around her. She remembered instinct taking over, dashing past Mr. Poe, down the block and around the corner, no longer holding her basket. She remembered the taste of acrid smoke as it seared itself into her lungs, and remembered the the pain of screaming until her voice gave out. She remembered the scrapes from her elbows and knees from collapsing onto the cement. She remembered Mr. Poe saying, “There there,” in a voice that did not comfort her at all.

Perhaps is Klaus has been there, he would have told her that it only takes three to four minutes for a house to burn down, and that the average person would have passed out after only two. He would have comforted her, in his own way. “It wouldn’t hurt. Smoke inhalation got them long before the fire did.”

If Sunny had been there, she would have held Violet’s hand in her little baby one, and babbled a swear word or five, and Violet might have tearfully told her she really should break that habit.

If her mother had been there, her remarkable mother, her brave mother, Violet could not help but think that everyone else would have been there too, because she might have saved them from the blaze. They’d be singed and coughing, but they’d be alive, all of them, and they’d cry together. Her mother would probably make a joke, and they’d all laugh, relieved in each other’s company.

If her father had been there, he would have held her in his strong arms like he would have never let her go, and they would have cried and cried, but they would have had each other and that was better than nothing.

Yet, that’s what Violet had now—nothing. And, as Mr. Poe explained, a large fortune that she would not be able to touch until she turned eighteen. Violet didn’t care. What could cold piles of money give her now? Could they buy her family back to life? Could they rewind time? Could then unburn her house and the people inside?

“This can’t be. How could this happen? They were just… I _just_ saw them…” She repeated these words to anyone who would listen. Adults looked down at her sadly, but no one could give her any answer.

After that, Violet’s memory is blank. Depression smothered her like a thick, scratchy blanket. She felt suffocated everytime she turned to laugh with someone who was no longer there. Panic clenched it’s cold hands around her throat often, and without warning. Memories were a comfort and a curse. She found solace in silence. She was angry, so angry—at God, at her family, at herself.

Time dripped by like molasses as Violet was passed from one pair of hands to another. She made no effort to connect. What was the point? She did not seek comfort in others. They were not her family, nor would they ever replace them. Not if she could help it.

“Violet, you have to understand, we’re running out of guardians.” Mr. Poe explained exasperatedly, “You’ve gone through more homes in the past two and a half years than any other wealthy orphan in the history of Mulctuary Money Management. Your Aunt Josephine is terrified of you. You’ve been expelled from Prufrock Preparatory School! The Village of Fowl Devotees has closed there fostering program because of you!” His voice had risen to a shout, and he broke off into a fit of coughing, unable to continue.

Violet sat silently, staring at the scared hands folded in her lap. She was once again seated in the back of a familiar blue car, driving to another place that would never be her home.

“Lucky for you, orphans are _very_ in right now, and I’ve found someone willing to take you in. He’s the tenth most important financial advisor in the city. Isn’t that wonderful?”

He continued to talk, but Violet wasn’t listening. She didn’t really what he had to say anyways, and besides, she had began to recognize the houses flying by outside. It was bright and cheerful, not grey and cold as it was in her memory, but still she was able to mouth the names of every street they passed. A sadness that she had been suppressing for years uncoiled itself from someplace deep inside of her.

“I am sure he will take very good care of you, Violet, so don’t worry,” Mr. Poe finished, as the car pulled up at a red light. “As long as you don’t blow it, you’re going to become one of the _Innest_ children in town. Imagine how jealous your siblings would be.”

Violet, ignoring him, opened the car door and hopped out.

“Violet? Violet Baudelaire! What—come back here this instant! Violet!” He demanded, his face reddening comically, but Violet was already gone, bolting down the familiar street.

It felt good to run. Breathless and exhilarated, she didn’t let herself slow down, not even for a second. She couldn’t let her fears and regrets catch up with her. Memories came in flashes, but she only ran faster, until all she could think of was the pain in her lungs and in her legs.

Suddenly, she stopped short. She’d been moving so fast that the abrupt stop maybe her lose her footing, but catching herself on the ornate cast iron fence beside her, she straightened up.

Violet didn’t know what she had been expecting, but the beautiful mansion standing tall and stately where her home once had jared her to her core. Her mind was flooded with indignant rage, and she had the urge to march up to this imposter house and ask the owners how they _dare_. But as she watched, two children, a sister and a brother, walked by the front window, laughing together over a joke Violet could not hear. Her anger dissolved and all she was left with was a dull, painful longing in her chest.

“What could a pretty girl like you have to cry about?”

In all honesty, Violet had not noticed the tears that were sliding down her cheeks. So lost in her own thoughts, she hadn’t noticed anyone beside her either.

“I’m afraid that’s not any of your business.” For once, Violet was glad she spoke without thinking, without looking, because when she laid eyes on the man beside her, she found herself unable to think at all.

“Oh, testy. Is it that time of month?” He raised one side of his single brow.

Normally, that comment would have been enough for Violet to at least throw some scathing words, but she found her jaw slack.

“You know, it’s dangerous for a pretty girl to be out all by herself. Any old villain could come along and snatch her up.”

His insinuation was clear, and Violet could feel her cheeks heating up. She wouldn’t discredit this man—he was very attractive, although he had an odd monobrow and seemed to be her senior by a considerable amount. Something about his aura though, the way he talked and carried himself, the way he was looking at her—like she was a woman—was what was causing the sparks in her the bottom of her belly.

“What’s this?” He leaned down, so close to her she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. “Count got your tongue?”

The situation may have been exciting, but as he finished his sentence, Violet’s face screwed up, and she jumped backwards, shaken from her stupor.

“Ugh, your breath is awful!” This time, Violet did regret speaking before she thought. Horrified at her own rude words, her hands flew up to cover her mouth. The man straightened up, looking surprised, and an image of him backhanding her across the face seared itself unbidden in her mind.

Instead, he laughed. Her shoulders sagged with relief. “I’m so sorry. That was very rude of me.” Holding out her hand to him, she said, “My name is Violet.”

Still smiling, he took her offer, engulfing her delicate hand in his large one.

“Loverly to meet you, Miss Violet.”

The handshake went on just a moment too long, and Violet, unsettled by the intensity of his attention, pulled away.

“Aren’t you going to tell me yours?” She asked him.

He looked at her, blankly.

“Your name, I mean,” She clarified. He was still watching her closely. She wished he’d look away, answer her question, anything. The way he looked at her made her feel exposed and uneasy. After years of being dismissed into the background, she wasn’t sure what now that she was relevant to someone again.

“No,” he replied, smirking.

Violet blinked. That, she had not expected. “Oh. Well… alright. Asked and answered, I suppose.” She was at a loss as to what to say now. Her mind was painfully divided between desperation to be allowed to fade away again, and a longing for the conversation not to end. Even though she wasn’t sure what to do with it, it was refreshing to be treated like an adult, to have someone's full attention.

And have his full attention she did. He was watching her amusedly, perhaps enjoying the way she squirmed under his gaze like a butterfly about to be pinned. He was enjoying this.

Conscious of that fact, and in an effort to avoid his eyes, Violet caught sight of a familiar blue car turning onto the street. She could make out Mr. Poe, fuming. He saw her, too.

The nameless man must have seen something in her expression change, because he glanced over his shoulder towards the approaching vehicle.

“I’m afraid I have to go now,” Violet said reproachfully, disappointment weighing down her voice.

He looked at the car once more, then back at her, and held out a hand.

She took it, thinking that perhaps he was going to shake it again. Maybe tell her his name this time. Some silly part of her hoped he’d ask to see her again.

Instead, he leaned over and kissed her knuckles softly.

Her whole body stiffened, but the sensation, while a surprise, was not unwelcome. His lips were not rough, like she thought they might be, and she found herself wishing they had lingered on her skin for longer than they had.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Violet.”

Mr. Poe’s car had reached them now, and before she could say a word, he had rolled down his window and shouted, “Violet Baudelaire, you get back in this car this instant!”

Smoothing her skirt, Violet shrugged apologetically, eyes downcast. “Goodbye, then. It was nice to meet you, Mystery Man.”

The look her was giving her when she glanced back up at him startling. He was staring at her now, but much different than before. His face had steeled over, and while his eyes were on her just as intensely, they seemed to be going through her this time, looking at something, someone else. She wanted to know what had changed, but how could she ask? So instead, she headed to the car, and opened the door to the back seat.

“It’s ‘Cat’, you know,” she called back over her shoulder.

“What?” He was still someplace far away; she didn’t have his full attention.

“It’s ‘Cat got your tongue.’ Not ‘Count’.”

And like that, the trance was broken. His dazed expression slid away, and he began to laugh, loudly, as if she’d told him the funniest joke he’d ever heard.

“Goodbye, Violet Baudelaire,” he said as she closed the car door. She liked the way her name sounded when he said it.

“Goodbye,” she called back, buckling her seat belt. She didn’t know if he heard her, but he waggled his fingers in a wave. He was smiling from ear to ear, gleeful and a little sardonic. On him, it was an attractive expression.

Violet didn’t realize until after Mr. Poe drove away that, for the first time in two years, she was smiling too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I finally published this! I've written out the rough draft for the whole first part, and I have a pretty good buffer, so I'm going to try and update bimonthly, if not once a week. I don't have a great track record with finishing the fics I start, but I already have this one all planned out so I think I will stick with it. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> I'm sorry for any errors, I don't have any sort of beta reader for this one.


	2. Bad Luck, anyways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet meets her mystery man for the second time.
> 
> (Warning for physical assault/abuse)

Three, almost four months elapsed before Violet saw him again. She was about in the city with her newest guardian, Mr. Dumont, when it happened.

No, that wasn’t quite true. Violet wasn’t ‘with’ her guardian, exactly. No, she was to stay five feet behind him when they were in public. She was never was she to address him, and when he went into one of the various shops or offices, she was to “wait outside and look pleasant.”

“I can’t be seen with any sad sack orphans. It will  _ ruin  _ my reputation.” Orphans had been In four months ago when she’d first come to live with him, but now they were very, very Out. 

“You could just tell people that I’m you niece,” Violet had said to him one day, while sitting in the passenger side of his pastel pink car. The idea of being related to a man like him was revolting, but she was sick to death of being treated like some kind of disease. She hadn’t had physical contact with another human in months, and as ironic as it was, she missed the occasional condescending pat on the head or shoulder that she had sometimes received from her previous guardians.

Mr. DuMont had not answered her, but the way his face ad screwed up made his opinion on the matter clear. 

And that was why Violet was standing outside of the building now, waiting, as she had been, for the past twenty minutes, instead of inside with him. The once-pleasant look on her face had grown sour with boredom, and her fingers tapped wearily against the stiff fabric of her pastel pink skirt. 

She was wearing an outfit that Mr. DuMont had picked out for her, of course. It was far too frivolous for her tastes, with a low cut back, a cupcake skirt, and white tights underneath. He’d told she should be grateful that she had someone to provide her with clothing that was so very  _ In _ , but really, she was not.

When the clock on the building across the street showed that Mr. DuMont had been gone for thirty solid minutes, Violet decided to have a look around. Surely she could find something to do, she thought. And even if not, exploring could not be more boring than standing dully in place.

That being said, there really was very little for her to entertain herself with in this city. Every building was the same boring grey, with tinted windows leaving her dreery, over-dressed reflection staring back at her. People clad in pastel shades walked by, heads down, or chatting quietly among each other. No one paid her any mind. 

Finally, though, something caught her attention. Beside the building she was supposed to be standing in front of, was a dark, dirty alley. Violet almost ignored it, caught sight of a large, overflowing dumpster glinted in the midday light. Her gaze was drawn to the metal pieces spilling over the top. Ideas for marvelous, terrible inventions began to fill her head, and Violet smiled a wry smile. Mr. DuMont might be able to handle a sad sack orphan, but could he handle a sad sack orphan with a automatic egg throwing machine? 

If she had her way, they would soon find out. 

The dumpster was tall—taller than her, anyways— and she couldn’t quite reach the top. Unwinding the black ribbon from around her wrist, she tied her hair back, out of her face. 

The solution she came up with was far from elegant, but it got the job done. Stacking from empty cardboard boxes, which had been piled near a small backdoor, she created enough of a boost that she could reach what she wanted. 

Bent at the waist, Violet grabbed everything she could get her hands on, stacking it neatly next to the boxes on which she stood. There was enough junk in here she was sure she’d be able to make a lot more than an automatic egg tosser, and her mind buzzed, excited with the possibilities. She had no idea what could be going on inside those building that would create this kind of trash, but she wasn’t complaining. 

Time passed as she rummaged, but she was too preoccupied to notice. All she needed was one last piece to complete her collection, and she had spotted it, buried deep under some shiny, black garbage bags. It was out of her reach though, so she pondered it for a moment, before deciding that sometimes, one had use unpleasant means to achieve important ends. 

Violet took a deep breath through her mouth, before plunging her upper body into the dumpster. Her hand grasped for something she couldn’t quite see, and her skin crawled at the sensation of unnamed garbage packed against her skin. Finally, after a few failed attempts, her hand closed around the broken, wire clothes hanger, and she wriggled upwards, clutching it to her chest triumphantly.

“Young lady, what on Earth are you doing?” Mr. DuMont stood, his small but imposing figure silhouetted at the end of the ally.

Violet hastily stepped in front of her pile of treasures, hiding the dingy hanger behind her back. “Nothing.” The tremor in her voice paired with the stains on her dress made her far from convincing. 

He walked forwards slowly, and she could make out what appeared to be a rather neutral expression on his face. Only the vein pulsing on his forehead gave his anger away. She couldn’t move, didn’t know what to say, like some sort of timid rabbit being stalked by a wolf.

“Was I not clear when I told you to wait outside for me?” His voice echoed around the alleyway, along with the sharp tap of his sleek, black shoes. 

Anxiety bubbled in Violet’s chest. “Yes, you were, but I—”

He struck her across the face so fast and so hard she didn’t have time to flinch. The hanger fell from her grasp as she reached up to clutch her cheek. It smarted sorely, and she swallowed back a rising tightness in her throat.

His expression had not changed. “What is that?” 

She did not take her eyes off his hand, but knew he was pointing to the hanger, and her other things, which now lay scattered about behind her.

She pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth. She did not want to cry.

“Were you planning to bring these disgusting pieces of garbage into my house?” His voice was high and nasally, and reminded her of the sound air makes when it is slowly escaping a balloon.

When she still did not answer, he grabbed her arm, hard. Violet swallowed a yelp, tears pricking the backs of her eyes as he dragged her forward. Resistance was useless. He overpowered her easily. 

“I do not ask much of you, you ungrateful  _ brat _ , and yet you still manage to be a nuisance. What would someone say if they saw my orphan rooting around in the trash like-like a homeless person. What would they think of you. What would they think of  _ me? _ ” He hissed, his nostrils flaring in anger. 

Violet coward away from him, shoulders pulled up defensively. She did not care what he was saying, only that she wanted to be away from this miserable, miserable man. Her cheek was throbbing and her throat ached from her effort not to cry.

Unfortunately, the pathetic state he’d reduced her to only seemed to anger him more, for he grabbed her other arm and before she could stop him, shook her violently. “Answer me!”

“Stop it, stop it, you’re hurting me!” Violet begged. 

He did stop, but not before the back of her head connected with the brick wall behind her. White hot pain shot through her temples, and fireworks exploded behind her eyelids. His grubby fingers were still digging into her arms, where they would surely leave bruises later. 

“Don’t ever try to embarrass me again, or I assure you, you will regret it,” he said, sounding calm once more.

Violet struggled to breath in, to calm herself. Her head was pounding, and all she could think about was how much she hated this stupid man and his stupid face.

“Do have an apology for me?” The question was earnest. He was not mocking her. Somehow that made it so much more insulting. 

“I’m sorry that I have a terrible man like you for a guardian,” Violet snapped. Fury rolled across his face, and she wished once again for the ability to think before she spoke. 

Any ounce of control that Mr. DuMont had been holding onto disappear, and he slammed her against the wall, a low growl rumbling in this throat. The rough bricks scraped the exposed skin on her arms and back, and as her ankle caved beneath her, a cry tore from Violet’s mouth.

“I don’t know what kind of behavior your other guardians found permissible, but I will  _ not  _ tolerate this disobedience! Is that clear?” He spat. If he had been a cat, all his hair would have been standing straight on end.

Fingernails cut painfully into her arms now, and Violet bit her lip, grimacing away from him. 

Fed up with her silence, Mr. DuMont raised his arm back to strike her again. She flinched, bracing for the blow. 

It didn’t come. 

“You know, I usually don’t care for orphans, but this one’s just too pretty to pass up,” drawled a voice Violet recognized, but couldn't immediately place.

Opening her eyes just a little, she could see that someone had caught her assailant's extended arm and twisted it behind his back. 

Mr. DuMont’s face turned fire hydrant red, and he shoved Violet away from him, onto the ground, trying to yank free. He was spitting mad and did not have the decency to look embarrassed to be caught beating his charge. 

“Unhand me, you villain!” He demanded. 

“The way I see it, the villain here isn’t me.” Violet’s rescuer shrugged, and let go on him. “But okay.” 

Violet recognized him as soon as she got a good look at him. The man she met by her not-house. The one with one eyebrow. 

So relieved was she to no longer be in her guardian's grip, she didn’t even ponder the odds of him finding her here.

Mr. Dumont stumbled away, his foot catching on the newcomers extended ankle, and, cursing, tumbled to the ground. “How-How dare you!” He cried, clambering to his feet. Dusting off his pastel suit, he glared at the intruder. Violet felt like she was watching a stray cat stare down a wolf. “I don’t know who you think you are, interrupting my personal affairs this way, but I will have you know, I am one of the most important financial advisers in this city and I am not to be trifled with! Good  _ day _ , Sir!” He marched over to where Violet sat, and reached for her arm.

Naturally, she jerked away from him.

“You little—”

“Leave her.”

Both Violet and DuMont looked at the man. 

“I am not going to let some strange man tell me how to raise  _ my  _ orphan!” DuMont objected hotly. With his red and sweating face, he was beginning to remind Violet of a sweltering sausage, stuffed uncomfortably into a suit.

The nameless man licked his bottom lip, nodding to himself as he weighed the situation. 

Then, faster than Violet could follow, he was brandishing a knife in one hand, stroking the sharp side lovingly with the other. “Let me put it this way.” He said, smiling sadistically. “If you  _ don’t  _ leave, I will gut you like a pig.”

The word ‘pig’ left his mouth like a shot and echoed around the ally satisfyingly. Mr. DuMont’s face went from scarlet to paperwhite as he glanced between Violet and the knife. “B-but she’s my…” He stammered, tugging at his collar.

“Buh-buh-buh-buh,” The nameless man mocked. Suddenly, the knife was leveled at Mr. DuMont’s throat, at the end of a long, lean arm. His grin widened with humour. “Bye.”

Mr. DuMont let out a high squeal and turn tail, down the alley and out of sight. 

Violet watched him go, relieved, but also nervous. She remembered this knife wielding man from months ago, and while she had longed to meet him again, being alone with him, injured in a dark alley, was a little frightening. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, crouching down in front her. 

His voice was like honey, and when their eyes met she felt her fear melt away. He wasn’t going to hurt her.

No longer wary, she nodded, to answer his question, but with Mr. DuMont gone she could no longer hold back her tears, and dissolved into a sobbing mess. 

“Oh, uh,” he looked glanced around, startled, and quickly slipped the knife back into his jacket. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with a little, snot-nosed orphan,” he mused. When she didn’t stop crying, he added, “I guess I’ll just have to have to take her with me while I think about it.”

Before Violet could argue—not that she would have—he’d slipped her arms around her and stood up. As she clung to him, memory surfaced in her mind. 

When she was a little, five or six, she’d taken the training wheels off of her bike. On her own, she had decided she didn’t need them any longer, but had tumbled to the ground almost as soon as she left the driveway. Both knees scraped and bleeding, she had sat there, crying on the sidewalk, her bike lying beside her. 

It had been her father that found her, that had picked her up in his big, warm arms. He’d dried her tears, cleaned her knees, and fixed her bike. 

_ This is what being held feels like,  _ she thought to herself, as shuddering sobs shook through her.

He carried her out of the ally, her nameless man, and told her that everything would be fine, and that he meant it: If that ugly man tried to hurt her again, he  _ would _ slice him open, from top to bottom, so all his guts fell out. But, not to worry, he wouldn’t be back. He knew the type, those financial advisers, and she shouldn’t worry because he knew how to deal with them, too. 

Violet wasn’t really listening, but being spoken too, civilly, and being touched, filled some long-dried pool inside of her. She cried in rhythm with the heartbeat beside her ear, allowing herself, for the first time in a long time, to be vulnerable.

The urge to be comforted is an instinctive feeling. Comfort and trust are not mutually exclusive, though usually the two go hand in hand. Young children run to their parents, and when they get older they run to their friends or their lovers. Even animals will go to their owners of companions when they are hurt or scared. 

To be comforted, it was what Violet had secretly wished for for years. All her emotion, her anxiety, she couldn’t stop them now. She was tired of it all, oh so tired. She’d let him take her anywhere, she thought, and maybe it was true because she barely noticed when he got into a car—a sleek, low, dark thing—cradling her on his lap as someone else drove them away. Perhaps she should have been worried about going away with a strange man who’s name she didn’t even know, but as he told her jokes she didn’t really hear, she could not find it in herself to care. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank everyone for the lovely comments last chapter! <3 I adore you all.


	3. Vulnerable (One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet goes home with a near stranger.

When they stopped, the sky outside was almost dark. Still hold her, the nameless man stepped out in the cool air, to face a large, plain looking apartment complex. Dead shrubbery lined the building and dark vines crawled across it’s worn out facade.

The driver, someone Violet never did get a good look at, said something to the man carrying her before heading off the way he’d come.

“Who was that?” She asked, her voice scratchy and soft.

He smirked, but not in an unfriendly way. “No one that you need to worry about.”

She accepted this answer thoughtfully. Let him keep his secrets.

“I think I can walk now,” Violet said, as the they entered the building. The dim fluorescent lights flickered to life in front of them, one after the other.

“Maybe,” He agreed. He made no move to put her down.

She didn’t mind. “I don’t usually don’t let men take me home until the second date,” she joked. Her mood had improved significantly during the drive. “Let alone men whose names I don’t know.”

He grinned at her. “I’d say that I, too, don’t often bring home women whose names I don’t know, but I’d be lying.”

A twinge of anxiety bloomed in her chest, and she studied the worn fabric of his shirt intently. For a moment, the only sound was the creaking of the floor beneath his feet. “You have women over often, then?”

He laughed, and she “Well, when you’re a famous actor like me, it’s hard to keep them away.”

Violet blinked, and looked at his face. “You’re an actor?” This was the first time he’d told her anything about him.

“I am indeed.” His eyes met hers, and he raised his eyebrow. “Famous actors don’t rescue just anyone, you know.”

She liked the way he said actor, with the emphasis on the last syllable instead of the first. “Then I must be very lucky,” she replied. “For I’ve met a famous actor on two occasions.”

They were waiting for the elevator. It was only after the door dinged that Violet, mulling over their conversation, realized what he had said earlier. “Wait a minute! You know my name!” She exclaimed, clambering to look him in the eyes.

“What?”

She frowned. “Before. You said you often have over women whose names you don’t know. You implied that you don’t know my name,. But you do.”

He furrowed his brow thoughtfully. “Do I?”

“Yes!” She insisted. He wouldn’t forget it.

Would he?

“Hmm, I’m not sure I do?” He appraised her thoughtfully. “Veronica? Victoria? Lilac? ”

She laughed and hit his arm lightly. “You know what it is!” He was smiling now too, and she knew for certain he was just playing with her.

Finally, he gave in. “You’re right. How could I forget Violet.”

She felt her cheeks heat up, surprised by the intimacy of it, of her name on his lips. Her mouth was suddenly dry.

They had reached the fifth floor now, and exited the rickety elevator. A long hallway stretched in front of them. Across the floor was a stained, garish, green carpet, and off white, popcorn texture covered the walls. There were pairs of doors every few feet, with little brass numbers near the top of them. Rectangular fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Some of them were out, but it was far from the worst place Violet had been too.

Violet looked up at the man carrying her again, noticing a self satisfied smile on his face.

“And, you name? I don’t think it’s fair of you to leave me oblivious.”

“No, it’s not fair is it,” he agreed.

A huff escaped her. “Are you always this difficult?”

He didn’t answer, perhaps because he thought it obvious, or perhaps because they had stopped in front of a plain door near the end of the hall. It looked the same as all the others, as far as Violet could tell, aside from the number.

Suddenly, the hand supporting her waist disappeared, and she yelped, tightening her arms around his neck. “Hey!” He smirked at her, and with his free hand jingled a fat key ring for her to see. “You could have put me down first,” she pointed out her chin resting on his shoulder.

“Why would I do that, when I can have you clinging to me instead?” He asked, fumbling with the door handle.

If she was honest, she didn’t really mind this position either.

The door was unlocked after two more tries, and it swung opened to reveal an apartment in horrendous disorder. Violet said nothing, but shifted nervously as she took it in.

Sensing her disapproval, he kicked some dirty clothes aside with his foot, and entered. He looked around, thinking a moment, before heading over to a couch piled high with junk. Sweeping it aside with his free hand, he set her down gently on the cleared spot.

“So this is… your apartment?” She asked carefully, looking around at the mess.

He looked around as well. “For now.” His answer was cryptic and he did not give her time to question it, heading away from her and into the kitchen. The floor plan was open and she could him moving about behind an island stacked high with pots. She could also see some of the dining area, which housed a small, circular table, and three chairs. The table was covered in all manner of things: mail, used plates and cutlery, clothing, and other trash. Violet looked down at her scraped knees, her fingers tapping uncomfortably against the stained couch cushion.

He returned a few moments later, holding in his arms a roll of gauze, an old box of bandages, a clean, damp rag, a half empty bag of frozen peas, and what appeared to be an open bottle of vodka. Setting these items on the couch cushion, he crouched down in front of her.

“Wow, you really did take a beating. Good thing you had a brave, attractive man there to save you.”

Violet rolled her eyes, smiling. “My hero,” she said dryly.

He grinned, cheshire-like, and his fingers brushed across her ankle. “Should I leave you to clean yourself up?” As his eyes ghosted up to her face, her body tingled in sudden anticipation. “Or will you need my help?”

Violet knew from the way he was watching her, from the way his fingers rested on her leg, from the icy spark now alighted in her core, that he was offering her so much more than help with her wounds.

Like with the first time she saw him, Violet has no idea what to do with this attention. The anxiety that had been building in her since they left the car exploded, racing through her blood. She could feel her heartbeat in her throat. 

The room was suddenly so much smaller, and he was far too close. Anywhere, everywhere but him, her eyes darted around the room, searching for escape. Reaching up, she pulled the the ribbon out of her long, dark hair, and fell down, pooling on her shoulders and spilling down her back.

“I can make do by myself, I think. Thank you.” Eye down turned, she played nervously with the ribbon in her hand, twisting and untwisting it around her wrist.

He crouched there,silently for a minute, giving her ample time to change her mind.

Violet wouldn’t look at him. In all her years of moving around, distancing herself from others, she had never had the time nor the desire to explore in _that_ way. By herself, sometimes, alone under the ever-forgiving cover darkness. But that was different. _This_ was different. She didn’t know what to expect—what he would expect. She was afraid, and of her fear she was ashamed.

The warmth of his fingers on her leg vanished and she wanted to reach out and cling to him again, like a child to their parent. Clean, worn shoes tapped against the wooden floor as he stepped away from her with a sigh. Terrified she’d angered him, she glanced up at him through her bangs, searching his face. For an actor, he wasn’t so good at acting. Then again, maybe he wanted her to know how he felt.

“I’m going out. You stay as long as you need.” Once he reached the door, he paused, and said, “It’s Olaf. Count Olaf.”

“I-what?” Violet’s hand tightened around her ribbon. He raised an eyebrow at her, unimpressed. She could almost hear him, _You’re a smart girl. Figure it out._ “Olaf. It’s your name, isn’t it.”

Her nameless man no longer, he smiled. _Bingo_. If that had been a test—and she suspected that it had—Violet appeared to have passed. Anxiety settling, she felt the tension in her shoulders disappear. He didn’t hate her.

Then the door shut behind him and Violet was left alone with this relief and a extremely messy apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter is late! It's been a busy week.


	4. Skin is on fire: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet embarrasses herself and Olaf loves it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, I decided to go back and add chapter names

Violet was worse off than she had thought. Both her knees were scraped and bloody, and her tights were torn beyond repair. Her arms and cheek were both bruised and tender, along with her ankle, which was still throbbing. The dress that Mr. DuMont had given her was stained, dirty, and ripped. This was no great sadness for Violet, who didn’t care for the outfit at all, but she was worried, as she had no other clothes to wear.

She’d found a bathroom not long after Olaf left, right off of the kitchen/dining room area. While it wasn’t very clean, it wasn’t all that dirty either. 

As soon as the lock on the door clicked shut, Violet stripped off her soiled clothing, to wash them in the small, leaky sink, before hanging them over the curtain-less shower rod to dry. Then, wetting the cloth Olaf had given her, she methodically began to clean the grime off of her body.

Count Olaf’s questionable medical supplies mostly proved quite useful. The vodka was left untouched, but Violet did bandage both her knees, then unspooled a long strip of gauze to secure the frozen peas to the bump forming on the back of her head. 

The small mirror hanging above the sink was covered in drops of dried product, water, and fingerprints and the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling did not provide much light. Still, Violet examined herself as thoroughly as she could. 

After taking care of all her injuries, she stood back, studying her reflection. 

She was average in height, a little underweight, and of course, covered in bruises. Her hair was thick, dark, and longer than she liked it. Her blue eyes had circles beneath them, gained from years of nightmares and unrest. She was not out shape, but she wasn’t particularly athletic either. She did have some curves, a recent development, and one she wasn’t quite sure what to do with.

After she felt certain the front of her was thoroughly investigated, she turned around, head craning over her shoulder, studying her back. One hand gathered her hair and pulled it in front of her so she could see. There were some scratches on her butt, presumably from when she had fallen, and a couple light scars on her calves, though those were from when she was much younger. A few stretch marks could be seen on her lower back. 

She was nothing impressive though. Nothing impressive that she could see, nothing that could explain why Count Olaf had taken such a liking. 

Violet pondered this for a while, but soon decided that there was no point in wallowing. Time passed slowly, as it often does, and her clothes had not yet dried. 

Standing by the door in her underwear, she listened carefully for any sound that would give away another occupant. There was nothing. No one had come in while she was distracted. 

Cracking open the door, she called, “Hello?” poking her head out. When no one answered, the rest of her body followed.

The next thing Violet did was clean up the clothes that were scattered across the floor. Her original plan had been to see if there was anything she could wear while she waited, but the rank smell put her off of the idea.

Once she started picking up the clothes though, she didn’t want to stop. Something about the cleaning was cathartic. Simple and silent, she enjoyed the way she could let her mind go blank as she worked on the menial task. 

There was no point in folding anything, as they all need to be washed, so she piled them up on the couch so that they were at least out of the way. Next, she picked up all the trash—plastic wrappers and empty bottles, mostly— and deposited them in a stinking trash can, before setting the bulging bag down next to the front door. 

The apartment already looked significantly better. It was messy, but not as dirty as she had thought it would be, once everything was off the floor. There were a few sticky spots, and it was a bit dusty, but the thick layer of grime she assumed would be there was surprisingly not. 

The swelling on her head had gone down, and Violet returned the half empty bag of peas to the fridge. There was not much else in there, just another bottle of vodka along with two frozen meals, and Violet felt a pang of almost-motherly worry for Olaf. This absolutely could not be a healthy way to live. 

“I’ll have to talk to him about getting some better food,” she thought, before remembering that they barely even knew each other, and how rude it would be for her, an orphan girl, to tell him, a grown and competent man, how to live this life. 

She shut the freezer. A clock on the stove read 5:00 O’clock. Violet check on her clothes again, but the skirt on her dress was still sopping wet. She squeezed it out again, hoping that that would speed up the process. Luckily, her tank top was only a little wet, and she pulled it on. It was thin and cold, but wearing it made her feel a little bit less exposed. Until everything else was dry, it would have to do. 

Fighting boredom, Violet remembered the something she had discovered earlier. It was an old radio she’d uncovered from underneath of a smelly, brown jacket. It was missing an antenna and the nob was stuck in place, but it had been so long since she had heard any music and she had nothing better to do, so she decided to fix it. 

It didn’t take her long at all, and when the crackling sound of voices came from the dusty speakers, she grinned triumphantly. The nob was still stuck, but a little bit of grease that had been pooling on the stove fixed that in no time. Part of her felt degraded that her talents were being used to fix some dusty old radio, but it had been so long since she’d worked with her hands, and she was too happy to care. 

After fiddling for a minute, a station began coming in clearly. It had some pretty old music, stuff her parents would have listened to, but she turned the volume up higher than was acceptable in an apartment complex, grinning from ear to ear, swaying along with the beat. She stepped back, bobbing her head and tapping her feet against the floor softly. 

Violet was a good dancer in the way that any pretty girl who let the music move her could be. Though, her movements were slow and sloppy, it didn’t matter. The beauty of it was in her carefree smile, the unabashedness that came from dancing in ones under clothes, and what seemed like years of melancholy lifting from her. 

She recognized the song vaguely, and knew some of the words from somewhere, some other life, so she began to sing along, badly and off key. Improvement came with every word, as she found the tune and her voice. Singing was nothing she would be able to make a career out of, but she sounded well enough to entertain herself, and that was never a career she had considered anyway. 

It felt good to let go, and Violet allowed herself to get caught up in the music. The song ended, and she stopped dancing, slightly breathless. Her cheeks were flushed with extortion, and she was still smiling.

Then clapping filled the room. Violet screeched in surprise, her heart sinking as she turned around. A thousand excuses ran through her mind—  _ My clothes aren’t dry. I didn’t think you’d be back yet. I have a head injury, you can’t blame me for acting crazy _ — but she was frozen, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. 

“Brava.” Count Olaf, who had been leaning languidly against the wall, now stepped forward. With every clap, she wanted to even more to collapse in on herself and disappear. A woman’s cheerful voice crackled through the speakers, announcing the next song. 

Violet watched with wide eyes as his reached for the radio, long finger hovering over the “off” button. 

“How about an encore?” He asked hopefully.

Mortified, she shook her head.

He nodded, disappointed but unsurprised. The music stopped, and they stood there, facing each other in silence for what seemed like an eternity. 

“My clothes weren’t dry,” Violet suddenly blurted out. Even a shitty excuse was better than the silence. 

Olaf smirked at her, and she crossed her arms over her chest aware of how exposed she was. The kitchen island in between them was her only solace and it wasn’t much. If he was any closer, she thought she might melt into a puddle on the floor.

“You don’t need to make any excuses to me,” he said, staring, but not at her face. “In fact, feel free to have ‘wet clothes’ anytime.”

Her mouth flapped uselessly and her face, impossibly, grew redder than it had been. He must have taken pity on her, because Olaf pulled off his dingy, grey jacket and slid it across the counter. It was soft and worn, with only a couple questionable stains on the front, and a few ragged patches. Both the sleeves were singed, which gave Violet uneasy pause, but then she snatched it up anyways, pulling it around her snugly. 

“Sorry. Thank you,” she mumbled gratefully.

“Don’t be. You’re welcome.” He seemed more cheerful now than he had been earlier, and Violet was fairly sure that her humiliating song and dance had everything to do with it. 

Olaf dropped his keys down next to the radio, and then walked past into the dining area. He was heading towards the small hallway, where the bathroom was, but he suddenly stopped. Squinting, he turned in a slow circle looking around the apartment, then faced Violet, who was still fretting and red faced.

“Did you do this?” he asked her, his face unreadable. 

“Huh?” Violet, who had not been paying attention, glanced around in confusion.

“You cleaned everything up?” 

Fidgeting nervously with the jacket, she nodded. “Well- yes, I did. It was a mess, and I hadn’t anything else to do,” she told him. It was a surprise to Violet how humbled he looked now—she hadn’t even done all that much. She imagined how impressed he’d be if she had a broom and some other decent cleaning supplies!

Olaf blinked quickly, and for a second, Violet would have sworn he’d teared up. 

“Oh.” He choked out. Fingers running gently over the bare wood of the kitchen table, he looked to be struggling, silently mouthing words once of twice, before he looked at her. 

Watching him curiously, Violet thought maybe he was going to thank her.

Instead, he turned back towards the hallway again. 

“Follow me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "competent adult" Ha!
> 
> Sorry, y'all wait two weeks and you get a boring chapter like this. I'm going to upload part 2 later today or tomorrow, it's almost done.


	5. Skin is on fire: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet plays some games.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally had the time of my life writing this, so I hope you like it too

“Follow me.”

His demand was sharp and gruff, but there was a warm, fizzy feeling in Violet’s chest and she was sure he wasn’t angry with her. She followed him, tugging at the bottom of the jacket as she walked. It didn’t matter, really, as he was looking straight ahead as they walked down the short hallway. They passed the bathroom, where the dress was still dripping, and to the door at the end of the hall.

He unlocked the door with a key he fished out of his pocket, and on the other side was a pigsty of a bedroom. Violet’s nose wrinkled at the smell of it, and she wished she could have cleaned it too. Maybe she could make him some kind of robot, she thought, that could go around and wash his clothes all day. Doing it herself seemed like it might be an uphill battle.

Before Violet could ask him what they were doing in his bedroom—it was his, wasn’t it?—he had strode across the dim room and thrown open another door. Curiously, she waited in the doorway, trying to make out what he was doing. She didn’t have to wonder long, as moments later he returned, holding a ball of white fabric in his hand.

Without warning, he tossed it at her. Violet’s hands flew up to catch it. It was weightless in her hands, and she marveled at the softness of the material. 

“You can wear it,” he said, flopping backwards onto the bed. “Anything would be better than that ugly dress you had on before.”

Looking at his outfit, she wondered if he was really one to talk. Too bad she agreed with him.

“I’ll go put this on, then.” The sentence, which she had intended as a statement, came out more like a question, and Olaf, who was now picking at his teeth with one hand, eyed her. 

“If you’d rather just wear what you have on, I won’t stop you.”

Blushing and once again extremely conscious of her state of dress, Violet hurried from the room, her new outfit clutched to her chest. After closing the bathroom door behind her, she sighed, watching herself in the mirror. 

“What has happened to you?” she wondered to herself. As someone who had always prided herself on keeping her wits about her, she was bewildered how she was behaving. Becoming so easily flustered was not something she was accustomed to. 

Shedding Olaf’s jacket, Violet pulled what she had discovered to be a nightgown over her head. It was smooth and satiny against her skin. Much too fine for an orphan inventor like her. 

The fabric, which she had original mistaken for plain white, was sheer and laced with golden thread that shimmered in the dim light of the bathroom. 

It was a size or two too large for her, making her look much more fragile than she really was. The dress itself was long and loose, the skirt falling down to her ankles. She suspected the correct length would have been around her shins. The plunging, lacey, neckline was thwarted by her more conservative tank top. Lace and frills delicately lined every hem. It tied in the back, under Violet’s breasts, keeping the top tight. The shirt fanned out from there, hiding the rest of her, except for her pale, bare feet. 

It smelled faintly of citrus and almond and seemed to swallow her whole. Surely it was for a taller, older woman, far more sophisticated than a girl like herself. The blonde hair stuck near the collar further cemented this belief. It also filled Violet with a strong, biting jealousy. She’d never felt anything like it before, and was simultaneously disgusted and intrigued. 

_ I can work with this _ .

Olaf was waiting in the kitchen for her. There had not been much she could do to fix her appearance. The dress, being what it was, accented by her various bruises and the ribbon around her wrist gave her the geral aura of some sort of hobo princess, or a broken doll someone had pulled out of the garbage. Not too far from the truth, as it?

Fidgeting, she entered the kitchen silently, her feet flat against the cool wood of the floor. He didn’t notice her at first, but when he did, he made an expression she didn’t quite understand, before taking a long swig from the bottle in his hand. Violet was pretty sure that it was the vodka she’d seen in the freezer earlier. 

Making a twirling gesture vaguely with one hand, Olaf leveled his eyes at her again. Fingers tapping nervously against her leg, she cocked her head at him, unsure what he wanted from her. 

He rolled his eyes. “ _ Spin, _ Violet.”

She indulged him, a nervous sort of giddiness alighting in her stomach. Feeling brave, she curtsied when she’d finished, smiling impishly. Olaf, grinning, applauded her. 

“You look beautiful,” he said. Then, mostly to himself, “I do have good taste.”

Violet flushed and hopped up on the stool beside him. “You picked this dress out?” She asked innocently. He hadn’t been very forthcoming about his life so far, but maybe she could trick him into telling her more. She was especially interested in this other woman.

He raised his eyebrow at her. “Yes. But it wasn’t the dress I was talking about.”

In her chest, her heart fluttered unevenly. “Oh,” she squeaked. 

“You’re not wrong, though. I do have a good eye for fashion. Part of working in theater,” He explained, after taking another sip of vodka. 

“Oh. Of- course,” She agreed, watching his lips against the glass of the bottle. Somehow, it was hypnotizing. “But I’m surprised. Does the manly, attractive Count Olaf wear dresses in is free time?” Violet teased, tying back her hair with the ribbon from her wrist. 

Olaf scoffed. “I’ll have you know that am perfect for  _ any  _ role. Even roles with dresses,” he declared. “But no. That dress is not mine.”

Violet hadn’t thought so. “Well, if you it isn’t yours, who else could it belong to?” Leaning forward, she looked up at him through her eyelashes curiously, like she’d seen the women on TV do. Annoyance flickered across his face, and she briefly wondered if she was overthinking this. He’d mentioned he had nameless women over often. 

“It belonged to someone insufferable. You’re a lucky girl—You won’t ever have to meet her.”

Outside, the tell tale pitter patter of rain began to tap against the windows rhythmically. The glass was dark, and all Violet could see was a reflection. “Is she an actress too?” Gentle thunder rumbled outside. “I bet she’s very beautiful. This dress probably suits her much better than me.”

Olaf made another face. “It’s true, she isn’t too hard on the eyes,” he agreed, before sucking down some more drink.

Violet sat back, her smiling wavering. “Do you see her often?” In the same fashion of air escaping a balloon, Violet’s courage left her. Why was she here? Was she here because some other woman couldn’t be? Another nameless bit of entertainment, among a long line of others? 

Or had she misread this situation entirely. Perhaps he was just a kind man, offering an orphan child a place to stay. She had been so sure… but then again, what did she know of these kinds of things?

Bitter disappointment rose like bile in her throat, and she realized that maybe she didn’t want to play this game anymore. 

Count Olaf titled his head. Lighting outside lit up the dim room, for a moment, and he gestured largely with his bottle. “Like I told you, I have had many women before.”

Violet fingered the thin fabric of her skirt. Waves rolled and crashed inside her stomach, and she considered excusing herself to the bathroom. How silly. How naive. The reflection in the window across the room stared back at her distaste and disappointment. 

Before she could muster a single word, an excuse to get away, Olaf continued. “But, she’s not my girlfriend, and as far as my tastes go,” He paused, looking her over quite obviously. “You have nothing to worry about.” 

And for the third time since meeting Count Olaf, Violet could not think of a single thing to say.

“Next time you have a question, clever girl, you might as well ask me because nobody knows schemes better than I do,” he said in a soft, dangerous tone. He reached for her, and Violet closed her eyes, anticipating his hands on her skin, her face. 

Instead, her hair tumbled down around her shoulders. Her eyes flew open, surprised and he held out her ribbon to her, his own eyes narrowed in amusement.

It fell into her open palm, worn and silky as ever, and she stared at it. The bump-bump of her heart was so loud that she was sure even he could hear it.  _ How had he known?  _ She felt as though he’d grabbed her heart in his hand, squeezed it, and wouldn’t let go. The rain outside might’ve been inside her head now, she couldn’t tell with the rushing in her ears. 

_ Only I get to play games, my clever girl,  _ his eyes seemed to say. Oh, that nickname made her feel something, alright. If he called her that again, she would surely do anything he wanted, and that didn’t scare her nearly as much as she thought it should.

“You said you have women over often. You’ve mentioned it, um, twice now, I think.” Turning away from him, to face forward again, Violet tide her ribbon around her wrist.

Olaf set down the long bottle on the marble countertop. “Yes,” he agreed slowly. 

Violet reached out and took the bottle. To hold it up like he did, she had to grab it in both hands. The taste was....not good, and she couldn’t help but screw up her face as she quickly set the bottle down. Venturing a quick glance over at Olaf, Violet was embarrassed to see he was hold back a smile. “Don’t laugh at me. I needed that,” she told him.

“Why?” The question was a genuine one, as he took the bottle back from her. 

Violet let out a huff before leaning against the cool marble, propping her head up on her hand. “As I was  _ saying _ , you said you have a lot of women over.”

“Yeah, I do.” He was squinting at her. “What did I tell you about playing games. I’ll f—”

“No—no—no games. Just a question,” She corrected him quickly.

Sitting back, he frowned, looking over the tidy room. “Seems like a scheme to me, little girl.” This accusation was punctuated by thunder outside.

Violet ignored both him and it. She didn’t feel quite so nervous anymore, and she wondered if it was really the gulp of vodka or just the idea of it. “These women. What do you do with them, when they come over?”

Olaf’s head turned to her sharply, eyeing her with a tentative understanding. His lips formed a soft “oh” while he thought of how to reply. “We do all sorts of _ fun _ things,” he said finally.

“Fun things, huh?” She decided to try that thing where she looked up at him through her eyelashes again. 

Licking his lips, he held her gaze.

“I’m not sure I understand. Maybe you could explain it to me?” Part of her was thrilled. She felt so indecent and it was exhilarating. 

Leaning forward, Olaf took a strand of her hair in between his fingers. “I’ll do you one better, Miss Baudelaire.” 

She swallowed, her throat dry with anticipation. “Yes?” The question came out as a whisper.

“Why, clever girl, I’m going to show you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! I won't be updating this again until I've finished the drafts next five chapters, so it will probably be on hiatus for a month or two. I'd love to hear what everything thinks of it so far!


	6. Involving me, involving you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet gets shown all sorts of fun things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING:  
> This chapter is the reason I changed the fic rating from mature to explicit. It contains underage sex, and dubious consent (at best). If those things are triggering to you, I encourage you to skip this chapter. Most of what goes on in this chapter is consensual (aside from that fact that, ya know, Violet is not of age), and even the parts that aren't are portrayed in an intentionally naive light, as this story follows Violet, who is not a reliable narrator.
> 
> Author's Note:  
> Sorry this took so long to get out! I've been working on a draft of part two of this fic, and I ended up adding a lot/ rewriting a lot of chapters so it took much longer than I'd planned. It didn't help that this chapter (the one I needed to start updating again) was the hardest for me to write. This is also the first time I've ever written smut, so please be gentle, I'm very anxious about posting it, to be honest. I know the trigger warning is a little scary, but I tried to make this as fun and sexy to read as I could. That you for your patience, and please enjoy this extra-long-end-of-hiatus smut. :)

She kissed him first.

She’d kissed someone once before; a girl with warm eyes and brown hair, in the dark behind a set of rotting bleachers. But that had been different. It had been soft and slow, cool and melancholy. They’d both been trying to find what they had lost, replace it, maybe. That hadn’t worked, but for the moment it had been a nice distraction.

The first kiss Violet shared with Olaf was quick and chaste, her lips lingering on his for only a moment. The second, the third, the fourth, and the fifth, however, were hard, fast, hot, and hungry. He gripped her shoulders almost painfully tight, and her own hands tangled desperately in his hair. 

“Eager, aren’t we?” He breathed when they parted, looking half impressed and half amused.

“Should I not be?” Violet asked, slipping down off her stool. It was almost laughable; the top of her head didn’t even reach his chin.

He huffed, watching her with distress. “Where are you going, Girl? You don’t think that’s all there is too it, do you?”

Violet rolled her eyes, feeling a little bit giddy, and asked, “Do your women usually sit on a bar stool for all the ‘fun things’ you do to them?”

“No,” Olaf agreed, smiling devilishly down at her. She glanced towards the bedroom pointedly, thinking she’d been clear, but he shook his head, and before she could say a word, his hands were around her waist and she was yelping as he lifted her into the air only to set her down on the cool marble countertop. 

“They usually sit up here.”

And then they were kissing again and his tongue was in her mouth and she’d wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him as close as she could. One of his hands rested on her now-exposed thigh, the skirt of her nightgown piled up around her hips. The other massaged her scalp, her dark hair tangled in between his fingers. His teeth scraped against hers jarringly, and then, without warning, the hand in her hair tightened into a fist, yanking her head to the side. A noise of surprise had barely left her mouth when she felt the hot feeling of his tongue against the soft skin of her neck. The feeling made her body buzz, and she tried to pull away from him. “What—what are you doing?”

“You don’t like it?” He sounded surprised, but the ever-present amusement did not leave his eyes. Annoyance flickered in her gut, and she briefly considered calling the whole thing off just to spite him, but his mouth had latched on to her neck again, and the hand that wasn’t in her hair had slid under her skirt and was now rubbing small circles into the tender skin on the inside of her thigh and she didn’t have the strength to make him stop. She grasped the end of the counter tightly, squeezing her eyes shut as she felt him toying with the hem of her underwear. 

He must have felt her tense, because he pulled away from her, letting her hair fall free to stroke her cheek. “You’ve really never been touched before?” He sounded incredulous, and she opened her eyes to glare at him, face red.

“No. I...I’ve tried by myself once or twice, but...barely. I always got...nervous.” Her leg was bouncing up and down and Olaf watched it curiously. 

“So you’ve never had anything inside you?” The bluntness of the question made her want to melt through the counter and disappear. Covering her face with her hands, she shook her head. Olaf hummed thoughtfully, fingers still drawing lazy circles on her thigh. “Alright. Lie down.”

“Here?” She squeaked, peeping at him through her fingers. Was he just going to go for it? After that conversation? Right on the counter?

He nodded, and Violet took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. Then she leaned back tentatively, grimacing at the feeling of cold marble on her back. Her arms lay stiffly by her sides as she waited nervously.

With a meticulous sort of tenderness, Olaf shimmied the voluminous skirt up around her waist, presumably leaving her lower half on full display. Warmth shot through her, and she gasped at the unexpected sensation of him rubbing the palm of his hand against her through her panties. It suddenly occurred to her that she would have no warning of whatever he chose to do to her down there, as the skirt blocked her view.

“Olaf, I—”

“Shhh shhh shhhh. Don’t whine, Orphan. I promise you’re going to enjoy this.” His eyes seemed to twinkle at her, and then much to her surprise and embarrassment, he knelt down, disappearing from her line of sight. 

Perhaps the dress was a mercy, she thought, because had she seen that he was about to pull her underwear down to her knees, she would have snapped her legs closed on instinct. 

“My my, Miss Baudelaire. You’ve been playing coy for someone so...excited.” 

His voice made her gulp, and she suddenly realized how much she wanted to grasp something, hold on to it, ground herself, but she couldn’t reach the edge of the counter any longer. The buzzing, electric sensation was threatening to burst from her skin, and now there was a taunting ache between her legs. Olaf took one look at her expression, and laughed. Violet covered her face with her hands again, thinking that she just might die. 

“Do you want me to stop, Miss Baudelaire? You seem quite distressed.” Olaf asked her, removing the underwear from her person completely. 

“What do  _ you _ think?” She hissed, still sour from the sound of his laughter.

“I think that I probably  _ should _ stop. This is a crime, don’t you know? They arrest old men like me for doing things like this to little girls like you.”

She could  _ feel  _ the warmth of his breath, he was so close to her. “I am not a little girl!” Hands still across her face, she huffed, irate from his teasing.

“No? Then I’m sure you can answer my question, can’t you.”

“I—Damn you! Please don’t stop. I want you to—I want you to touch me!” she cried. She was angry at him for teasing her like this, and humiliated she’d all but begged him for. He hadn’t even told her what he’d planned to do!

But all of that was forgotten in an instant, because he slipped his thumbs between the dark curls and slick folds, humming slightly as her appraised her, then placed his tongue— _ his tongue! _ — against her most private place.

Violet shrieked, startled, and tried to push herself into a sitting position, but he pinched her thigh and she froze uneasily.

“Olaf, no, you can’t—Ooh...” 

But he could, and he did. A tingle began, growing until she felt it from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She imagined her body was filled to the brim with erratic, buzzing bees. 

“Miss Baudelaire, has anyone ever told you that you taste absolutely marvelous?”

They hadn’t, as he surely knew, but that did not stop the compliment from sparking yet another ember in the fire of her belly. 

Violet was acutely aware of everywhere she was being touched: his tongue, obviously, but also his fingers gripping her thighs, his hair tickling her skin, the thin fabric of her dress rubbing frustratingly against her nipples as she wiggled silently against the counter, her hands pressed against her eyes as she could not think of anything else to do with them. 

When he finally kissed her clit, which had been just aching for attention, and much to Violet’s horror, she could not help but cry out. The sound was downright whoreish, and hearing it, Olaf redoubles his efforts, licking and kissing and sucking until Violet thought she might cry. Outside, rain continued to pound against the windows, but she couldn’t hear it. She was drowning, lost in a flood of sensations that were like nothing she’d ever felt before. 

“O-Olaf, please, I—” but then the feeling exploded, toes curling as her muscles spasmed, back arching off of the countertop, a breathy, needy noise coming from her throat.

When she finally found the will to open her eyes again, Olaf was standing once more, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and looking quite smug.

“Don’t you look quite the picture.” He was smirking, looking her over, pleased. 

“That was- wonderful,” she told him weakly, pushing herself up so she was reclining on her forearms. Feeling tingly and gelatinous, she watched her breasts rise and fall unevenly, her heart pounding against her chest so loud surely even Olaf could hear it.

“Thank you, dear girl.” Smiling, he reached forward, and slid her towards him as easily as if she was a bag of groceries. “ If you liked that so much, I’m sure you’ll love the rest of it.”

“The rest of it?” She echoed, wrapping her arms around his neck as he picked her up. Her skirt fell naturally to cover her, though she didn’t think modesty was much of an issue any longer. 

_ All that and neither of us are even naked.  _ The thought made her cross. Olaf had seen her in her underwear before, and now he’d seen half of her without even that, yet she hadn’t seen any indecent parts of him at all.

“Of course ‘the rest of it’. You didn’t really think that was  _ it _ , did you, clever girl?” The hallway was dark, but Olaf did not bother to turn on any lights, using his shoulder to push open the door to his bedroom, which was ajar from earlier. 

To be honest, she hadn’t really thought about “it” much at all. She knew about sex, sure, but she hadn’t know about that wonderful thing he’d just done with his mouth. So in that instant, she’d decided to give up any expectations she might have had, because Olaf was already surpassing them. 

As the bedroom only had one outward facing wall, the sound of the wind whipping against the house faded to the background. The gritty hum of the fridge also disappeared, as did the drip-drip of the kitchen sink, leaving the pair in relative silence. Violet hadn’t even picked up on the background noise before, but now that it was gone, she somehow felt more exposed. 

Olaf dropped her down onto his bed, and then began to unbutton his shirt with nimble fingers. Violet watched him with interest, taking note of the way she’d messed up his hair earlier. She liked the tousled look. 

“Why don’t you take that dress off?” Olaf asked her, still working down the buttons. “You don’t need it anymore.”

Violet slipped off the bed, reaching back to finger the bow nervously.

“Violet. Off with it. Unless you’d rather I do it for you?” He was watching her with those, hungry, burning eyes, and so Violet swallowed her anxiety, pulled the bow apart, and shimmied the garment off of her. It landed in a pile around her ankles.

“And- this?” She asked, pulling her camisole down in hopes it might cover her.

Shaking his head, Olaf tossed his shirt onto the floor. “Come here. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

Violet obliged, stepping out of the dress-heap and into his reach. He pulled her onto his lap, running one hand up her bare leg.

“Do you—What do you know about sex, Violet?” His hands were moving across her skin, soft and comforting. 

Violet took a quick, shaky breath. “Clinically? Everything. Physically? L—” She faltered as one hand ran gently over her hip to settle on her ass. “Less.”

“And what did you think about what we did in the kitchen?” 

“It… felt good. I liked it.”

He raised his eyebrow at her, and she looked away, focusing instead on the dingy, olive colored curtains blocking the storm outside from view. They were moth eaten and fraying around the hem. They were a little bit too long, and the ends dragged against the floor, and Olaf’s fingers were tapping against her skin, and she could feel his eyes on her still. 

“Fine! Fine! I—I did enjoy it but it was embarrassing!” She burst out helplessly. “I’ve never—You—I didn’t know what you were doing! I don’t know what’s okay. What I’m supposed to feel like, or-or sound like. I didn’t know where to look, what to do with my hands, what you were thinking! It’s—I don’t—I…” How could she explain it when she wasn’t quite sure what it was?

Olaf didn’t seemed bothered though. After a moment of thought and continued caresses, he said, “Miss Baudelaire, I think I understand. You are used to being the smartest person in the room. You don’t like things that are out of your control,” He leaned closer, as if goading her. “You don’t know how to let other people take care of you.”

Violet’s nose scrunched up, but before she had the chance to get properly angry with him, he tutted her, continuing. “Never fear, for I, the fantastic Count Olaf, your brilliant hero and lover-most-tender, have devised the perfect solution.” He trailed a long finger down her arm, where is slid under her hair ribbon, pulling it free from her wrist. “Do you trust me, Violet? Will you let me take care of you?”

Before she could finish her nod, he’d flipped her down onto the bed, pinning underneath him. It was, frankly, terrifying. Less the action, and more the fact that he was right. Years of orphanhood had taught her that she couldn’t trust anyone but herself. But so far, Olaf wasn’t like anyone else she had ever known. He was different. He was going to take care of her. 

So she tried to make herself relax. She imagined her anxiety leaving her, a goopy black mess, dripping from her pores, through the bed, through the floor. And as she gazed into Olaf’s grey-blue eyes, her father’s voice rang in her ears. “Nerves and excitement are really the same thing, didn’t you know, Ed? Same thing, only your brain got mixed up somewhere along the way. So really, it’s up to you to decide isn’t it?” She blinked. Up to her to decide. 

Rationalizing things always made Violet feel better, and this was no exception. Olaf said he’d take care of her, and really, she decided, she was quite excited to see what that meant. From this angle she could see her underwear, sticking on of his pant’s pocket. She wondered if he planned on keeping them. Part of her realized she should be embarrassed by the idea, but it was too late, for she’d already pictured him  _ wearing  _ them, and she couldn’t help the pleased smile that fluttered across her lips. 

He raised his eyebrow at her again. “Want to share with the class, Miss Baudelaire?” As he pulled her wrists up above her head, she eyed him fondly.

“I saw you kept my panties, and I was simply imagining how they’d look on you,” she told him truthfully. 

Above her, his hands still for a moment, as his expression shifted to one of genuine surprise, then into something she thought might be pride. “Who knew Violet Baudelaire had such a dirty mind.”

Violet went to swat him on the shoulder, maddened by how very pleased he looked, but his hands had finished what they were doing and with an “Ah ah ah!” she found that he’d bound her wrists to each other and headboard with her own traitorous ribbon.

A tremor of anxiety struck her.  _ Excitement,  _ she reminded herself, but it didn’t stop her voice from shaking. “Olaf, why…?” Deep breath. “Why are my hands tied?”

“And you said you trusted me!” His bottom lip stuck out in an exaggerated pout, as picked up a pillow from beside her head.

“I do, I do! It’s just… Is this something that people having sex do?” She asked him tentatively, trying her best not to remember all of the articles and news reports of tied-up girls, missing girls,  _ dead  _ girls being found in all manner of places. Washed up on riverbanks, found in abandoned car trunks, or rotting in out-of-the-way apartment buildings. Above all, she tried to keep her mind from that dreaded, awful word, the one that started with “R”. 

Olaf laughed in a not so nice way, but it sent desire spinning through her veins. She couldn’t help but stare at him as he freed the pillow from it’s case, and tossed it out of the way. As he was no longer burdened by a shirt, she watched the way his lean muscles stretched beneath his skin as he folded the cloth up into a strip.

_ Maybe I don’t mind _ , Violet mused to herself.  _ Maybe I don’t mind being one of those tied-up, missing girls, so long as I’m his.  _

And then she couldn’t see anything any longer, because he was wrapping the case soft across her eyes, tying it behind her head, and she heard her own frightened voice leaving her mouth as a squeak, “Olaf?” and he kissed her cheek so gently she could have cried. 

“You look so sweet, my lovely girl, I might have to eat you up.”

“I thought you’d already tried that,” she snarked at him before her brain could tell her not to. A laugh brushed across her neck. “Olaf- why are you doing this?” 

“You said you didn’t know where to look or what to do with your hands when I ate you out on my counter just before. You remember, I’m sure.” Fingers brushed under the hem of her camisole and across her stomach. “This is merely for your comfort, silly girl. Now you don’t have to worry about either of those things and I,” He added. “Can enjoy this lovely picture.”

Violet wasn’t sure how to respond to that, as the darkness made everything so much  _ more,  _ and his hands were so distracting. Surely he was doing it on purpose.

“Okay,” She breathed. “Okay. I understand. But you’ll—.” A knuckle brushed the underside of her breast and she faltered, breathing in sharply. “—You’ll take them off if I ask, won’t you?”

He hummed, not  _ quite  _ an agreeance, his lips against her neck. 

“Olaf!” She insisted. She wanted—no,  _ needed _ — to hear him say it. 

“Fine! Yes, of course I will stop if you want me to, Violet.” 

The way he said her name left her breathless. Even now, she could hardly believe he was doing this with her. That he  _ wanted  _ to do this with her. 

“Then what are you waiting for?” 

This time he really laughed, and Violet gasped as he rolled his hips against hers.

“Cheeky. Keep that up, and I’ll find something more useful for that pretty mouth of yours,” Olaf told her. Sick of teasing, maybe, he yanked her camisole up and over her head, leaving it to rest around her arms. Violet took a deep breath, knowing he was looking at all of her now.

She’d never been very confident in her breasts, and she imagined Olaf looking at them now, a frown settling on his face. She wondered if he found them too small, or if he thought her nipples were the wrong size or color, or if he’d noticed the silvery little stretch marks that marred her skin. She had them on her hips too, a recent development, and one she hadn’t considered too deeply until this moment. He wouldn’t be impressed. How could he be?

“You’re overthinking something.” His tone was accusatory and suspicious, and this time, Violet knew exactly the expression he was making. Furrowed brow, narrowed eyes, pursed lips. 

“No I wasn’t.” A lie. 

He was silent for a moment, and then he clucked his tongue in realization. “That’s right. Doesn’t know what to do with her hands or her eyes, and doesn’t know what I’m thinking. Those were your complaints, weren’t they.” A hand slid from her navel up to rest in flat between her breasts. “I’d almost forgot that third one.” 

Violet shivered, pushing up against his touch. She wanted to feel more of his skin against hers. “Well, you beautiful girl, no need to fret. I was simply imagining how beautiful my cock is going to look inside your sweet, little cunt.”

Violet’s face heated as she sputtered at his vulgarity. He leaned forward his stomach was pressed against hers now, and before Violet could even think to chastise him, he’d slid a long finger inside of her, and began to lavish her neck in bites and kisses. The pleasure inside her was blossoming inside her again, and she couldn’t help but groan as Olaf began to knead her breast roughly in one hand. 

The wet noises that came from Olaf making good use of his mouth mixed with the quiet song of Violet’s pleasure in the otherwise quiet room, which was slowly but surely beginning to fill with the musky scent of sex. The freedom of the blindfold, not to mention the filthy things Olaf continued to mutter against her bare skin, embolden Violet to be as noisy as she wanted, which in turn, seemed to excite Olaf even more. His movements grew faster and rougher, pushing Violet towards yet another release.

“Oh, God, yes!” She cried, muscles straining. She was so close now.

Olaf laughed. “I know it’s an easy mistake to make, but my name is ‘Olaf’, actually.”

If she her hands hadn’t been tied, and if he wasn’t distracting her so thoroughly, she might’ve have smacked him. “Ooh, you’re insufferable,” she declared, breathless. 

His stubble tickled her throat as he leaned in close. “And yet you seem to be suffering me quite well.” She felt him shifting above her, and wiggled her hips, trying to get just a little bit more of something, for surely that would be enough to push her over that edge, when suddenly his hand and his lips were gone and she was left distressingly pre-orgasmic. 

“No- Olaf! Please, I’m almost—just a little more, I need to—”

“Someone’s turned into quite the little slut.” He hummed. “Your begging could use some work, though.”

Violet whined, continuing to wiggle her hips to no avail, when she heard the click of a belt buckle. Suddenly, anxiety let ring a piercing note through the orchestra of feelings she was currently wallowing in.

_ Not anxiety,  _ she thought.  _ Excitement. _

“Olaf- are you, are you going, um…” Her tongue tripped over the words. She could feel something hard pressing against her hip, and it did not take any stretch of her imagination to recognize what it was. 

Olaf rolled off of her, and she wanted to cry. If he’d just help her  _ finish _ —

She could hear the sound of him undoing his belt, and focused on the tingling feeling across her lower body. 

“Am I going to  _ fuck  _ you?” Olaf asked, his weight leaving the bed all together. From the sound of it, she was pretty sure he was taking his pants off. “Well, I think that’d be fair, don’t you? I mean—you’ve already cum once, shouldn’t I get to too?” 

Violet didn’t recognize the word, but she understood the meaning.  _ If you hadn’t stopped, _ she thought to herself, a little bitter,  _ I would have been able to do it again. _

The bed creaked softly as Olaf climbed back onto the end of it. “Don’t make that face, it doesn’t suit you. I didn’t do it to be cruel. I need you all warmed up before I take you. Though,” he added. “Watching you so desperate is certainly a bonus. Roll over.”

Violet almost didn’t catch the last part. “I—what?” Her hands fidgeted slightly where he’d tied them to the metal headboard. Then, “How?”

“On your knees. You can hold onto the headboard, can’t you?” 

She felt stupid for not already knowing that’s what he’d wanted as she awkwardly maneuvered herself so she was facing the front of her bed. She was sitting up, on top of her legs, her butt resting on her heels. Behind her, she heard Olaf sigh. “ _ Up _ , Violet. On your knees, I said”

Hesitating, Violet wiggled uneasily. The vulnerability of the position was not lost on her. Even though she already knew he’d seen all of her, it still felt humiliating to put that part of herself on display like he was asking.

“Violet.” His voice grew low and cold. “Now is a little late to be having second thoughts, don’t you think? You said yourself that you aren’t a little girl, didn’t you?”

“Yes…”

“Yes.” He purred. “So stop acting like one. Up on your knees, or we’re done for tonight.”

The white-hot sting of embarrassment grew as Violet’s throat tightened. She couldn’t imagine she’d be able to sleep without reaching that wonderful end he’d brought her to before, nor could she imagine bringing herself there while he’d lay asleep beside her. The shame of backing out now was more than the shame of continuing, so, slowly, she rose up onto her knees, gripping the headboard like a lifeline.

“That’s my good girl,” Olaf murmured.

The silence while he surveyed her, while only a few seconds at most, seemed to stretch on for an eternity. The slickness that had gathered between her thighs felt cold against her skin and Violet suppressed the urge to sit back down again.

“Your cunt looks magnificent.” Olaf said finally, leaning forward to run a hand from her behind down her thigh. Violet’s face burned as she leaned into his touch instinctively, wondering why his words made her feel so big and so small at the same time. 

He crawled closer and then she felt something else pressing against her thigh and she tensed in apprehension. The metal in her hands felt like it was burning her, and her fingernails dug into the skin of her palm. Even as her body wavered, unstabled on the bed, she was careful not to let go for fear that if she did she might tear her ribbon.

Then she wondered how she could ever wear it again without thinking of sex.

She didn’t have long to lament that though, because the warm feeling of his cock sliding against her folds brought her focus back to him and him alone. 

“Olaf!” Her shriek filled the room. It didn’t feel bad, but why hadn’t he warned her first?

Instead of apologizing, he grabbed her hips, lazily dragging her backward, then pushing her forward again, using her to coat himself in slick. “What’s wrong?” He asked, unharried.

Violet was incredulous. “What are you doing?” She demanded, voice shaky, pulling back against his hands.

Leaving her question unanswered, his finger hips dug into the soft skin and he rocked her backwards with ease. This time the tip of his length brushed her still-sensitive clit, making Violet gasp as hot pleasure shot through her.

Laughing, ground his hips against her, prolonging the sensation. “You love that, huh? I told you to trust me.”

“You could have warned me,” she grumbled, yet her ground her hips back against him, unable to help herself. 

Olaf grunted in response, pushing her hips away again. Instead of pulling against her again, she could feel him lining himself up against her wet entrance, and her stomach rolled.

“Olaf I—it’s— will it hurt?” She rushed out.

He seemed to consider it for a second before answering. “Yes, it probably will. But don’t be nervous. I’ll start slow,” he assured her, tugging gently on her hips. A wave a panic started to rise in her, and she resisted his grip.

“Olaf I- wait, I just need— I don’t think— stop it, _ no _ , Olaf  _ stop _ !  _ No— _ Aaah! _ ”  _ The sound that tore from Violet’s throat was something between a gasp and a scream as Olaf pushed himself fully inside of her.

“Oh my  _ God _ , Violet.” He groaned, reaching up to run one hand through her thick hair. “You’re so fucking tight, so good, such a good girl.”

Violet was frozen, shocked. It  _ hurt. _ Her insides felt like they were on fire, and an unpleasant ache was growing between her hips. The pleasure that had built up in her before wasn’t gone, but seemed inconsequential at the moment. 

“How does it feel, Violet?” Olaf wanted to know. 

Lips quivering, Violet sniffled, giving herself a moment to collect herself. His hand tightened in her hair slightly. 

“Violet?”

“It hurts…” she whimpered. “It’s— you’re too big, it’s too  _ much _ —”

For some reason, this seemed to please him. “You’re being such a good girl, you know that, Violet? Such an obedient girl for me. So- good.”

He continued stroking her hair for a minute more, as she grew used to the pressure of him inside of her. The makeshift blindfold was beginning to slip, and Violet could see a sliver of the wall in front of her. 

“I’m- going to move, alright?” 

Taking a deep breath, Violet shook her head a little, and the blindfold slid down around her neck. Blinking to adjust to the dim light, and to rid herself of any leftover tears, Violet took in the messy bed sheets beneath her, her camisole, which was hanging around the crook of her arm, and the rest of their clothes, piled up on the floor. 

_ I wanted this. I want this,  _ she told herself. Out loud, she just said, “Okay. I’m okay. I’m ready. You can- start.”

Slowly, he started to pull back. As Violet expected, it felt weird and painful and she couldn’t help but tense her muscles, like pinning him in place would stop the strange sensation.

For a moment it did, and Olaf let out a strangled groan, and his body curled forward over hers. “Violet, you—As good as that feels, you have to relax.”

Violet listened, taking a deep breath and trying her best to relax. Her hands were shaking where they were still clutching the headboard, and she was worried she might lose her balance. 

"Does it...does this feel good to you?" She asked him. She wanted him to feel good. Asking him felt childish somehow, but if this was to continue, Violet needed to know that her discomfort was to some end, at least. Maybe if she focused on making him feel good, she wouldn't notice her own pain as much. 

"Like you wouldn't believe," he replied, and his voice sounded a little bit gruffer than usual so she believed him. He was moving again, in tiny increments, one hand digging into her hip, the other still tangled in her hair. Then he pushed slowly back in and started over. 

Through it, Violet focused on the wall in front of her, the little chips in the paint, the grey smudge where the bed must've hit the wall at one point, and faint water stain over to the right. 

"Oh!" Violet's body jerked as a little as a little flash of pleasure sparked inside of her again. Glancing over her shoulder, she felt her stomach flutter at the sight of Olaf. She hadn't gotten to see him naked. His body was taut, his face tense with concentration. And, of course, there was the intimacy of seeing him literally inside of her.

"If you'd want," she said, sounding a little bit more breathless than she would have liked. "You can go a bit faster now.”

Olaf’s head jerked up and his eyes met hers. The expression on his flushed face went from a sort of neutral slack to something positively feral. 

“Violet Baudelaire, you’ll be the death of me,” he growled, and before she could ask him what that meant, he thrust himself inside her with enough force that she lost her grip. 

Her hands landed on the bed sheets, but she didn’t have time to think about what that meant because he was hitting something inside her now, something excruciatingly good, something that made her scream his name loud enough she was sure everyone in the building could hear it and she didn’t even care. 

He didn’t stop when she came, her muscles clenching around him as she practically wept from the satisfaction of it all. His fingers dug into her hips hard enough that they would surely leave their mark. The smack of his hips hitting hers and the groans he tried not to make filled Violet’s head to the point she thought she might float away had he not been holding her down. 

“Oh, God, Violet, you’re so—I can’t—” He came with a yell, spilling himself across the backs of her thighs. 

With his hands no longer on her, Violet fell onto the bed, rolling over to face him. The room was suddenly quiet, and Violet could hear the sound of her heart pounding against her rib cage. 

“That was- something,” She said.

Olaf collapsed onto his back next to her. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. 

He laughed. “What was that?” 

Violet sighed contentedly. “I’m just happy,” she told him. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so peaceful. Their little bubble on satisfaction felt like the eye of the storm.  _ I love you,  _ she wanted to say. She didn’t. 

“Well, ‘ Just Happy,’ why don’t you go wash up for bed. You’ll hate yourself when you wake up all… sticky.” Olaf’s nose scrunched up in a way that implied he knew that from experience. 

It was Violet’s turn to laugh. “Alright. I’ll be back in a minute.” She didn’t feel so self conscious anymore, as she slipped naked from the bed, trotting unsteadily down to the bathroom, where she used a wet hand towel to clean herself up. When she returned to the bed room, Olaf was already asleep, lying half on top of, half under the blanket, his hand resting casually across his stomach. Flicking off the lights, Violet smiled to herself, and stepped over the heap of her night gown to climb up next to him. She brushed a strand of hair out of his eye, running her thumb over the creases on his forehead. Her hair fell softly across his chest as she leaned down to press another kiss against them. She then scooted down to settle against him, pulling the sheets up to cover the both of them. 

The cool stillness of the night air slipped around her like a second skin, and as her eyelids grew heavy, she snuggled against the man beside her. 

“Violet Baudelaire,” He murmured against the top of her head, not quite asleep after all.

“Hmm?” Her mind was already starting to cloud with dreams, barely awake. 

“I think,” He said in a low, gentle voice. “I think I just might ruin you.” 

She wouldn’t remember the words come morning. 


	7. Vulnerable (Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet tries coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote this part all the way back in December. Hope you enjoy!

Violet came to wakefulness slowly, softly, her dreams dripping from her head until she couldn’t remember that she’d had any to begin with. She was warm. She couldn’t remember the last time she had woken up warm. He was around her, his arms around her waist, their legs intertwined. There was something pressed up against her hip— _ oh.  _ But instead of the shame she would have expected, she just felt warm and undeniably satisfied. 

_ Is this what I’m supposed to feel like?  _ she wondered bemusedly. Thoughts and emotions swam through her head lazily. Finally opening her eyes, she peered at the man still sleeping beside her. The room was dim, cool light filtering through the blinds. She breathed him in. Breathed him out. Asleep, he looked so...vulnerable.

It was so warm.

Violet didn’t realize she was crying until she couldn’t stop. 

Stirring beside her, a look of irritation affixing itself to Olaf’s face. “Shut up, I’m trying to sleep!” he groused, pushing himself away from her. 

There was a pang in her chest, an emotional wrong note, and Violet rubbed at her eyes furiously.

Her hips ached as she slipped from the bed, but still, she shimmied into her panties and picked up her borrowed dress before tiptoeing down to the bathroom. She didn’t have a toothbrush, but Olaf had a bottle of bright blue mouthwash in the medicine cabinet that she used to wash away the taste of morning. 

Examining herself in the mirror she tried—and failed—to hold back a delighted smile at the bouquet of bruises blooming across her neck and collarbone.

“Oh God, don’t tell me you’re a  _ morning _ person.”

Whirling around, Violet clutched the nightgown against her chest. “Oh! Good morning!” She beamed at him. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

Her apology was ignored. “What are you doing in here?” He asked her, eyes lingering on her bare shoulders. 

“Getting dressed.”

Leaning against the doorframe, Olaf smirked. “Mind if I watch?”

Instead of responding, she dropped the dress to the ground, noting that his eyes widened ever-so-slightly, before she stepped into it and pulled it up over her. “Help me tie it?”

Pulling her hair over one shoulder, she turned her back to him. Gathering the fabric to pull the ties tight, his fingers lingered on the sides of her breasts. “Are you sure you don’t want to come back to bed?” He asked, his voice scratchy but soft.

She was tempted, but her aching hips convinced her otherwise. “I would love too but…”

His grip on the ties tightened almost imperceptibly. “But?”

Violet bounced up onto the balls of her feet, her fingers tracing over the delicate fabric of the skirt. “I-I think I might be too sore to do that again right now. Not that I didn’t enjoy it! I did. Exceedingly. And I want-to do it again sometime. Soon, preferably. Just not right now.” 

He didn’t respond.

Violet swallowed, searching his expression in the mirror. Was he angry? His eyes had crinkled at the corners and he seemed lost in his own head. “It’s—I mean, is it normal? It’s suppose- to- to, um, hurt the next day?”

Then he grinned. Finishing up what she could only imagine was a horrible knot, he swatted her bottom, he turned and sauntered out of the small bathroom. “Only when you are with a talented partner. Come on, it’s time for coffee,” he called over his shoulder. Above her, the bare light bulb flickered.

Relieved, Violet let out the breath that had been stuck in her throat. Looking at herself once more in the mirror, she took a deep breath and straightened up before following him out into the kitchen. 

“How do you like your coffee?” The rain had stopped sometime in the night and the sky was completely clear. Droplets rested serenely on the glass of the windows. The air no longer felt so electric, as if it too understood that this morning should be a lazy one.

“I don’t really drink it,” Violet told him, sitting down at the bar. 

“You—what?” His eyebrow scrunched down in confusion. “With how much _she_ drank I would have thought—” He cut himself off, shaking his head as he pulled two mugs out of the cabinet and set them down on the counter. “ Well, prepare to be amazed, then. Count Olaf makes the _best_ coffee.”

“Who’s ‘she”?” The slip up was too obvious to miss. Was it the mysterious blonde woman he wouldn’t tell her about? Inside her, there was another pang, like from this morning when he’d told her to shut up. 

“Huh? Oh, no, don’t worry about that. She’s no one you’re thinking of. It’s- she was my… sister.” The way his face screwed up when he said it, like he’d tasted something bitter, along with his use of past tense made Violet think she shouldn’t push him on this one. Strangely, her uneasy feeling didn’t go away.

“Oh, okay. So, um, you make the  _ best _ coffee, you said? Are you sure about that? My dad always used to say that he could—”

“Oh, I am absolutely sure my coffee is better than your father’s.” A shiny silver lighter appeared in his hand, and suddenly a pretty blue flame sprung up under a grease speckled kettle. 

Violet laughed, and swung her legs back and forth under the chair. “I wish you two could have met. I think you would have gotten along,” she mused, trying to picture them together in her head. Much to her dismay, she couldn’t remember her father’s face, and only Olaf appeared clearly. 

“Really?” He turned to look at her, eyebrow raised. “I think the fact that I’m fucking his underage daughter might get in the way of any potential friendship.” 

Violet turned red. “Oh gosh, I didn’t—that wasn’t—Oh, he would kill you,” she muttered, horrified. What would her father say, anyways? There was no way he would ever allow this. “That was stupid, I’m sorry.”

On the stove, the kettle began to hiss, and Olaf cut the gas. “Don’t worry. I could take him, anyways.”

Violet snorted. “You seem pretty confident that you could take my father in a lot of things, huh. Fighting, coffee, what else? You don’t even know him!” Talking about her family always hurt a little, and somehow the way Olaf was being so flippant about it left a bad taste in her mouth. She knew she was just being sensitive. It had been stupid of her bring him up anyways, but she still felt like she needed to argue on her father’s behalf. “Don’t over react,” she reminded herself firmly. The last thing she wanted was to cause offense.

Olaf grinned. “Speaking of coffee, your Super Amazing, World Famous, Olaf Special is almost ready.”

“Should I—I feel like I need to close my eyes of something,” She laughed. “Like it needs to be a big reveal now.”

“Good idea. Close ‘em,” Olaf ordered. 

An appetizing smell filled the kitchen, and she could hear him pouring and mixing something up. “Are you done?” She asked, swinging her legs back and forth under the chair.

“Almost….Done! You can open.” He set a mug down in front of her. It look like coffee, dark and steaming. The blue ceramic of the mug was hot to the touch and Violet picked it up, holding it in both hands. It smelled wonderful. 

She’d had coffee a few times before, when she was much younger but the bitter drink hadn’t really appealed to her. It had been years since she’d last tasted it though, so she was willing to give it a try. Pursing her lips, she blew on it, watching the steam momentarily disappear. 

Olaf eyed her intently, awaiting her reaction.

Raising the mug to her lips, Violet look a big sip of the coffee. The first thing to hit her was the warmth. There was a distinct coffee taste but- something else, too. Her nose scrunched up. It tasted all wrong.

“This tastes—is there  _ vodka  _ in there?” She sputtered. The hot drink burned down her throat, warming her. “You can’t just  _ do  _ that!” She’d never considered putting alcohol in coffee before.

He laughed. “Can and did. Do you like it?”

Carefully, she tried some more. Now that she knew what to expect, it wasn’t so bad. The rich taste of the coffee made the vodka much easier for her to palette, and he’d added what she assumed must be cream and sugar as well. “It’s better than I thought it would be,” she admitted, and he nodded.

“Told you I make the best coffee.”

The drink was still a little hot, so Violet continued to hold the mug, blowing softly. Olaf seemed content to watch her, and the room was silent, aside from the faint sound of someone talking in an apartment far below them.

“Did you sleep well?” The worlds felt clunky and childish leaving her mouth. It seemed like a stupid question— after all, she’d had been sleeping right beside him the whole time. 

“Delightfully,” He said in a dry tone, a wry smile on his face. “And you?”

“Good! I mean—fine. It was nice. For um...sleeping.” Staring at her coffee, Violet wanted to die. Why couldn’t she just talk like a normal person? First talking about her father, and now this stupid exchange. Why was this so hard?

All she wanted was to relax. She knew she should. But the doubts that had been creeping through her head since she’d gotten up were becoming harder to ignore. Was she doing this right? What  _ was  _ ‘this’, anyways? What if all Olaf wanted her for was sex? He had that now. Maybe he didn’t even like her at all. Maybe—

“—Violet!”

Snapping to attention, she looked up to find Olaf frowning at her. 

“Sorry.”

“Relax,” he ordered, setting his mug down on the counter. She watched him warily as he walked around behind her. “Finish your coffee.” 

Twisting her hair over one shoulder, he placed is warm hands onto her shoulders and firmly began to massage them. 

Instantly, she tensed, her breath catching in her chest. 

“I said  _ relax _ ,” he insisted. When she didn’t, he asked, “Did I do something to offend you, Miss Baudelaire?”

Violet blinked, her throat constricting. “What?”

“I asked, ‘have I offended you?’”

“No! No, of course not! You’ve been nothing but kind.” She tried to turn and look at him, but he squeezed her shoulders hard.

“Really? Because you’re acting like you’re offended by something.” His thumbs rubbed circles against her shoulder blades, and she emptied her lungs.

“It’s my fault. Don’t—It’s not you. I’m just- scared.”

“Scared?” He let out a disbelieving huff of laughter. “Why?”

To Violet it was strange, to talk to him while he stood behind her. She’d been taught her to always look adults in the eyes when she spoke to them, but Olaf wasn’t letting her. She felt vulnerable, like a beetle that had been flipped on its back. Like an ant under a magnifying glass. Something about not being able to see his expression made anxiety spike inside her. 

“No one...No one’s ever  _ wanted  _ me before. Not since…” Swallowing, she chewed on her lip for a second, hoping he would say something to save her from an explanation.

He did not.

“And... If you decide you don’t want me either, I’ll have nowhere to go! Who else would have me? And I am terrified that any second you are going to realize I’m just a-a silly girl, or you’ll realizing I’m boring and ugly and rude and you’ll tell me to go.”

Now that she’d started, she found she couldn’t stop. She was putting into words things she hadn’t even dared to think. This was not something she’d told anyone about before, this fear of being abandoned. It was mortifying.

“My parents always said boys probably only want to have sex,” she continued, “And that then they’d be done with you. We’ve had-sex, and I don’t want you to be done with me! And-and I don’t know how to  _ do  _ any of this, anyways. Is this normal? Is any of this normal? It can’t be. We didn’t talk about anything. I don’t even know your last name! I don’t know where we are right now, I don’t know how old you are, I don’t know anything!”

Violet was practically yelling now. “None of that even matters, except I don’t know what I’m supposed to know, because I’ve never done this before. I don’t know what you expect me to know, and I can’t—I don’t want to disappoint you!” 

A bark, something like a laugh and a sob, escaped her. “And I didn’t want to tell you any of that because I know I sound like a crazy person. I’m not… I don’t want you to think I’m clingy or-or annoying...” She sighed. “I don’t want you to decide I’m not worth the effort.”

The silence in the room was crushing her, and she wished that Olaf would comfort her like he had yesterday during the car ride. Or, at the very least, that he would confirm her fears now and not leave her panicking. 

Instead, there was only silence, and the feeling of his hands rubbing harsh circles into her skin. 

“That’s, um, it,” she said in a small voice. 

“First of all,” Olaf began, after letting her squirm in silence for a moment more. “I am not a  _ boy _ . Don’t-don’t call me one. Second, it  _ is  _ annoying that you think so little of me. If all I wanted was a quick fuck, do you really think I would have went through all the trouble of rescuing you? Or- kidnapping you, in anyone else’s eyes. The last thing I need is another run in with  _ law enforcement _ .”

He did not give her time to consider the implications of that statement. 

“Yet there I was: handsomely, selflessly putting myself out there for you. And did I ask you for anything in return? No—In fact, if you would think back to last night, wasn’t it  _ you  _ who initiated the whole thing, little girl? Doesn’t seem like ‘not knowing what you’re doing’ to me. Next time  _ think _ before you get so hysterical. If I didn’t want you here, I wouldn’t have brought you here. I wouldn’t have let you stay the night, I wouldn’t have slept with you, and I wouldn’t have made you coffee. You’re here because I  _ do _ like you, Violet. You’re a funny, beautiful young woman. The confidence thing—” He shrugged. “We’ll work on it.”

Throughout his rebuttal, his hands stayed constant, grounding her with warm, firm touches. Violet sniffed, and rubbed her eyes with one hand.

“Feel better?” He asked. 

“Yeah.” And surprisingly, she did. “I’m sorry I—”

“Ughhh! Enough with the worrying. Now drink your coffee and enjoy the backrub. You think I give these things out to just anyone?”

“No-no,” She laughed, picking up her mug again. It had had plenty of time to cool while she vented. “I’m drinking it.” Her stomach had finally stopped rolling, though she did feel guilty for doubting him. He was being so generous to her, and she hadn’t even thought of all the trouble she could cause him. She’d have to make it up to him somehow, later.

“Good. Now, I am sure you’re starving, especially after all the strenuous activities last night, but there is no food in this house.” His hands had migrated lower on her back now, closer to her waist. Warm breath made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up on end as he leaned closer. “So, we could order food here and pay for it, or—and this is much more fun—go shopping.” This statement was punctuated by the feeling of his lips brushing against her skin.

Violet tilted her head instinctively, allowing him more room. “How is shopping more fun?” If it were up to her, she would never talk to anyone but Olaf ever again. 

“Ah, I was hoping you’d ask.” Warm hands on her waist made her lean back against him. If his intent was to distract her, it was certainly working. “ The fun part about shopping is that we don’t have to pay for anything.” 

Her brow furrowed as he began kissing her neck once more. “What?” She turned to look at him and this time he let her. “You’re going to steal?”

His eyes twinkled, and she was reminded of the way Sunny had looked at her before chewing the leg off of a 200 year old chair her parents had in the living room. Full of mirth and mischief. 

“Me? Stealing? Oh  _ no _ , my darling girl. _ ”  _

Heart sinking, Violet thought she knew exactly what he was going to say.  __

“You are.”


End file.
